


Lone Wolf

by Spikedluv



Series: The Lone Wolf Series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coda, Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek needs Stiles’ help.  Again.  But what’s with all the sniffing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lone Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Coda to Season One; takes place a couple days after the Season One finale. Written for Round Eleven of Small Fandoms Fest using the prompt: Teen Wolf (tv), Derek/Stiles, writer’s choice.
> 
> Spoilers for all of Season One; one early spoiler for Season Two. (If you want to know what the season two spoiler is before reading, check the notes at the end of the story.)
> 
> Written: July 28, 2012

The shiny black Camaro pulled to a stop at the curb a couple feet in front of where Stiles was walking down the sidewalk. It merely sat there idling and Stiles tried to tell himself that it was just a car, that the sense of foreboding he got from it was only in his head.

“Just keep walking,” Stiles muttered to himself under his breath. “Keep walking.”

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin when the passenger side door suddenly swung open in his path. Stiles ignored the silent invitation (more like command, coming from Derek Hale) and kept walking.

“Stiles, get in the car,” Derek said impatiently.

“Let me see, get into an enclosed space with a werewolf that would just as soon rip my throat out as look at me?” Stiles said, sounding much more brave than he actually felt inside. “I don’t think so.”

As much as Stiles had proclaimed that he wasn’t afraid of him, Derek had been plenty scary enough even before he’d become the Alpha. Stiles didn’t want to know how much scarier Derek could be now.

“I need your help,” Derek gritted out between clenched teeth.

It reminded Stiles of how he sometimes made his dad sound, only less with the possibility of him actually ripping out Stiles’ throat with those very same teeth. Stiles stopped walking and turned back to the car. He bent down so he could look inside where Derek was leaning across the seat staring at Stiles with the usual expression he wore when dealing with him.

“Oh, well why didn’t you just say so?” Stiles said with an exaggerated level of saccharine. “Still no.” He slammed the door shut and resumed walking on legs that had turned to rubber. Derek wouldn’t kill him for refusing to help him, would he? At least, not in broad daylight on Main Street, right?

While Stiles had been lost in thought Derek had eased the car away from the curb and now paced him. Stiles glanced over, startled when Derek spoke again.

“It’s about Scott.”

“Oh, hell no!” Stiles said, coming to a complete stop and throwing up his arms. Stiles shook his head – he couldn’t believe Derek’s nerve. “You leave Scott alone.”

“I can’t do that,” Derek said evenly. “And you know why. Now get in the car so we can talk, or I may have to do something very unpleasant on the next full moon.”

Stiles wanted to walk (no, run) away, but his feet felt like they’d been glued to the sidewalk. “Unpleasant, like, what, a trip to the groomers?”

Dog jokes were probably a bad idea right now, but Stiles talked when he was nervous, even more than usual, and there didn’t exist even the glimmer of a brain to mouth filter. “Nerves,” Stiles said, “please don’t kill me. Wait. You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

Derek merely stared back at Stiles with his usual stony-faced expression.

Suddenly it clicked. Stiles arms and legs jerked as if he was doing some puppet dance when all his nerve endings fired at the same time. “You’re not going to kill Scott?” he said, horrified. “If he lost your Gossip Girl DVDs,” Stiles added when a woman he thought he should recognize gave them a strange look as she walked past.

“At least, not until he replaces them,” Derek said, giving the poor woman a wolfish grin.

Stiles barked out a humorless laugh. Heh, barked! He couldn’t believe he’d thought the words ‘wolfish grin’ in relation to Derek, because while Derek was a werewolf, he rarely ever grinned, and probably only when he’d just done something mean (and totally uncalled for), like slam someone up against a door, or smash their head into the steering wheel.

“Stiles,” Derek growled menacingly.

Stiles jumped as if he’d been goosed. He pulled open the door and threw himself into the passenger seat, some primordial part of himself wanting only to obey the sound of that voice. Derek had already pulled away from the curb before Stiles realized what he’d done. “Shit.”

Stiles chanced a glance at Derek who continued to stare forward out the windshield. Still, Stiles thought he saw the corner of Derek’s lips twitch, as if he was holding back a smile. Stiles couldn’t be sure because he’d never actually seen Derek smile. Stiles sighed and relaxed into the seat. Well, relaxed as much as he could, being in the same car with Derek. That didn’t mean he had enough self-preservation to keep his mouth shut, though.

“Don’t think that I will jump every time you bark, either. I’m only here because I’m worried about Scott, too.” Which was an understatement. “And,” Stiles went on, “there will be no shoving, or slamming, or smashing of any sort if you want my help.”

“Sometimes it’s the only way to shut you up and focus your attention,” Derek said.

Stiles’ head shot up in surprise that Derek had even been listening, much less bothered to reply. “It is _not_ the only way,” Stiles said.

“Really,” Derek drawled. “What other ways work?”

Stiles had never heard Derek sound like that, and for reasons he didn’t want to think too deeply on, it went right to areas of Stiles’ body that should not be involved when he was thinking about Derek.

When Stiles didn’t answer, Derek went on. “It’s the quickest I’ve found, anyway.”

“You haven’t even _tried_ any other ways,” Stile said without thinking, then quickly added, “Violence is not always the answer, is all I’m saying.”

Stiles swallowed hard when Derek smirked at him, revealing one elongated canine. And where there was one, there were more. “Or biting,” he said nervously.

“Agreed,” Derek said as if he hadn’t just been baring his fangs at Stiles.

Stiles slumped in his seat. “I’m so going to need therapy,” he muttered.

Derek didn’t respond to that, not even the smart remark Stiles had been expecting. Then Stiles remembered Derek’s past – the fire six years ago that cost him nearly his entire family, the more recent murder of his sister, and then Derek taking the life of his uncle in revenge, his last remaining blood relative – and figured maybe they’d both be in therapy together. Some nascent instinct for self-preservation kept Stiles from speaking that thought out loud.

When Stiles finally thought to check their surroundings they’d left Beacon Hills behind. “Where are we going?”

“Someplace where we can talk without being overheard.”

Stiles didn’t think that Derek was going to hurt him (not if he really needed his help), but he couldn’t resist saying, “People saw me getting into the car with you. Just in case you were taking me to some remote location where you could kill me and dispose of the body.”

Derek spared Stiles a glance of the raised eyebrow variety. “If I wanted to kill you I wouldn’t do it in broad daylight.”

“That’s not as comforting as it might seem.”

Derek went on as if Stiles hadn’t spoken. “I’d sneak into your bedroom at night and kill you nice and quiet in your sleep.”

This time Stiles was sure that Derek was fighting back a smile. “Funny. Not like I don’t already have nightmares.”

Finally Derek slowed the car and pulled into a picnic area that was closed for the season, according to the sign hanging on the chain that blocked the entrance.

“It’s closed,” Stiles said, stating the obvious.

“That’s how I know we’ll be alone,” Derek said as he got out of the car, leaving it running and apparently trusting Stiles not to take off and strand him.

Stiles watched as Derek broke the lock holding the chain across the road. Derek tossed the chain aside and returned to the car. He drove through the entrance and pulled to a stop in the parking lot, car facing the way they’d come for what Stiles could only imagine was a quick getaway.

Derek got out of the car, taking the keys with him this time. He paced a few steps away from the Camaro and raised his face to the sky. It took Stiles a second to realize that Derek was scenting the air. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault that he got excited when he saw that. He thought the werewolf thing was cool. Except for the trying to kill him parts. Derek turned back to face the car.

“We’re alone.”

The funny thing was, Derek said that as if it was supposed to make Stiles feel better. Just before Derek got that impatient ‘I’m going to drag you out of the car by your hair’ look Stiles pushed open the door and stepped out. Doing his very best to not think about Derek dragging him anywhere. Derek moved off away from the car and Stiles had to hurry to catch up.

“You need to convince Scott to let me help him,” said Derek.

Stiles couldn’t help it, he laughed. “How do you expect me to do that? He hates your guts right now. You ruined any chance he had of being cured.”

“I know that,” Derek said. “But he needs to trust that I did it for his own good. And if he can’t do that, then he needs to find a way to just get past it.”

“Yeah, right,” Stiles scoffed, ignoring the look Derek shot him. “It’s not that easy . . . .”

“But it is that simple,” Derek said. “If he doesn’t let me help him, then he will never learn how to control himself, and if he can’t control himself he _will_ kill someone, and if he kills someone . . . .”

“Allison’s father will kill _him_ ,” Stiles finished.

“He’s being naive if he thinks they aren’t watching him every second of every day to see if he slips, and just plain stupid if he thinks he can handle this by himself. He’s a danger to everyone around him, including himself. And me.”

“You?” Stiles said. He’d seen Derek take on Scott, and Derek was the stronger of the two. Scott had more anger in him, but Derek had more experience.

“He draws unwanted attention to himself, he draws it to me,” Derek said.

Stiles’ mind was racing at the implication. “So, what, you’ll . . . ?”

“I won’t have to do anything if he’ll agree to let me train him.”

“But you said before that you weren’t sure if you even could train him because you were born a werewolf and he was bitten.”

“I’m the only chance he has,” Derek said. “And now that I’m the Alpha, I should have a better . . . .”

“Should?”

Derek sighed impatiently. “It’s not an exact science, Stiles.”

Neither one of them spoke for a few minutes. Derek broke the silence. “Will you at least try?”

Stiles stared at his feet as he kicked at the ground.

“You know it’s his only chance, I know you do.”

“How am I going to do that, huh? He won’t even let anyone mention your name.”

Derek sighed. “I know it isn’t much, but you can remind him that the cure was only ever theoretical. It might not have worked.”

Stiles snorted. “But it might have, and now he’ll never know.”

Derek ducked his head, then brought his eyes up to meet Stiles’. “At the time I was more concerned that Scott being the one to kill the Alpha would have . . . .”

Stiles’ eyes went wide. “Turned Scott into the Alpha?”

Derek glanced at Stiles with an expression that was almost approving. “He wasn’t ready for that, in any sense of the word. Can you imagine Scott with the power of an Alpha with the control he has now?”

Stiles could only shake his head.

~*~*~*~

“No,” Scott said when he saw Stiles.

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” Stiles protested.

“I know what you’re going to say, and the answer is still no. In fact, hell no!”

“What, are you a mind reader now?” Stiles scoffed. “Wait, are you?”

Scott gave him a look that reminded him of the looks Derek gave him. Stiles wondered if it was a werewolf thing.

“I don’t have to be a mind reader – his scent is all over you,” Scott snarled.

“Whoa,” Stile said. “That’s not creepy at all. And really? You can smell him on me? Because, I mean, he never even touched me, not even to slam me up against anything. I was in his car, which might smell like him, but other than that we were just . . . .” Stiles gestured with his hands. “In the same proximity.”

“Yes,” Scott said. “I can smell him on you, and it’s a really annoying scent, and I don’t want to hear anything you have to say about Derek Hale.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Stiles said, surprising even himself. “Look, I understand that you’re mad at him, and you have every right to be . . . .”

“Mad?” Scott said. “I’m not mad. He screwed me over, took away my only chance to be cured. I hate him!”

“I know,” Stiles said. “I know that. But you don’t need to like him to let him help you.”

“What part of ‘I don’t want his help’ don’t you understand?”

Stiles persisted. “You may not want his help, but you need it.”

“No, I don’t,” Scott insisted. “You can help me. You helped me control it before.”

“Not on the night of the full moon,” Stiles said. “You broke the cuffs to get away, Scott. You went after Allison! And you were being a big jerk, to boot.”

“Not this time.”

“Yes,” Stiles said, “this time. You won’t be able to help it. Not until you can control it.”

“I can learn to control it on my own!”

“We don’t have time for that!” Stiles said. “Not before the next full moon. And do you really want to bet Allison’s life on it?”

“You leave Allison out of this!” Scott growled.

Stiles resisted the instinctive urge to step back from Scott and forced himself to stand firm in the face of his anger. Scott took a step towards Stiles, causing Stiles’ heart to race, and then Scott turned and leapt out the window. Stiles ran over and looked out, but he didn’t bother calling out for Scott, who had already disappeared into the trees.

~*~

“Mrs. Argent,” Stiles said politely when Allison’s mother opened the door to him. “Hello. Is, um, is Allison home?”

Stiles fought the urge to fidget under her stare. She always looked so perfectly put together, not a hair out of place – it gave Stiles the heebie jeebies.

“Who is it, Mom?”

Stiles looked up to see that Allison had appeared in the upstairs hallway.

“It’s your friend . . . Stiles, isn’t it?”

Stiles nodded in response, unsure how happy he was that she remembered his name, and waved at Allison. “Hey, Allison, do you have a minute?”

“Is this about Scott?” Mrs. Argent asked.

“Mom,” Allison said smoothly as she descended the stairs, “Stiles and I have other things in common besides Scott.”

“Like what?”

Stiles’ mind went blank. “Um, chemistry. Class. Chemistry class, not . . . .” He gestured vaguely. “The other kind of . . . . Yeah.” Oh, god, Stiles thought, kill me now.

“Are you having trouble with the lab write-up?” Allison said, saving Stiles from himself.

Stiles slumped in relief. “Yes! So much trouble with my lab report. You would not even believe how much . . . trouble.”

“Come on upstairs, I’ll see if I can help you.”

“Thank you!” Stiles said.

Allison led the way up to her room and Stiles followed on shaky legs. “Your mother scares me,” he said, speaking softly so that only Allison could hear him.

Allison glanced back over her shoulder and gave Stiles a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “I’ll be honest, she scares me a little bit, too,” Allison said.

That didn’t actually make Stiles feel any better.

As soon as Allison closed the door behind them she turned to Stiles. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles didn’t even try to beat around the bush. “You have to help me convince Scott to let Derek help him,” he said, speaking quickly to get it all out before she shut him down. “I know that Scott’s mad at him, and you don’t have any reason to like or trust him, not yet, anyway, but he’s the only chance Scott has.”

“Stiles,” Allison said calmly, “slow down.”

Stiles took a breath. “Sorry, I just, I’m worried about him. He’s not thinking clearly, not when it comes to Derek. Scott _needs_ him. No offense, but your father is not going to give Scott a second chance if he even accidentally hurts someone.”

“No offense taken,” Allison said, sounding worried. “You’re right about that. What do you need me to do?”

“Scott needs to let Derek . . . . Wait, you believe me?”

“I saw Lydia in the hospital,” Allison said. “I know Scott didn’t do that, but I also know that he _could_. I want him to have the best chance at controlling this . . . thing, and if that means Derek Hale, then . . . .” She threw her hands up. “I love him, I want what’s best for him.”

“Thank you!” Stiles hugged Allison, then hurriedly stepped back. “You should probably take a shower now, before you talk to Scott. At least change your clothes.”

~*~

Stiles kicked his bedroom door shut and face planted on the bed. As if dealing with werewolf business all afternoon wasn’t bad enough, his father had been waiting for him when he got home from speaking to Allison. His dad thought it was time they talked, reconnected. Even the salads he’d bought in deference to Stiles’ insistence that he eat better didn’t make the enforced bonding time any more fun. Stiles loved his dad, but the guilt of lying was eating at him. He hated hiding things from his father, but there was no way Stiles could tell him about . . . .

“Derek!” Stiles squealed.

Stiles had rolled over to stare at his ceiling as if it held all the answers and his gaze fell on Derek, who had been lurking in the corner of his bedroom. Stiles quickly sat up.

“What the hell, Derek!” Stiles hissed. “Are you _trying_ to scare me to death?”

Derek ignored Stiles’ _very valid point_ and said, “Did you talk to him?”

“Did I talk to him? What, no, ‘sorry Stiles, I didn’t mean to scare ten years off your life’? No, of course not. Why should I expect an apology?”

Derek shifted – his feet, not into his other form – and Stiles was very quickly brought back to the question Derek had asked.

“Can’t you tell if I saw Scott today?” Stiles said, remembering that Scott had been able to smell Derek on him (and he was still all euww about that) (mostly).

“I can smell him on you, if that’s what you mean.” Derek’s eyes flashed red. “I can also smell Allison on you, so you might want to take a shower before you see Scott again.”

“I was planning on it,” Stiles said, resigned to the creepy werewolf heightened sense of smell.

“Now, if you’re done testing me like a trained dog, would you be so kind as to answer my fucking question?”

Derek was suddenly standing in Stiles’ space, looming over him like a big growly werewolf. Stiles scrambled backwards on the bed. “Do not _do_ that!”

It was totally unfair that Derek could move so silent and so fast. And so gracefully. Stiles would’ve tripped over his own feet and given himself away ten times over. And really weird that he could convey so much with just that one facial expression.

“Okay, yes, I talked to Scott, but I didn’t have any luck. Which is _why_ ,” Stiles went on quickly at Derek’s growl, “I went to Allison. She’s going to talk to him.”

Derek waited a beat, looking like he wanted to hear more.

“What?” Stiles said.

“That’s it? Allison is going to talk to him?” Derek pushed his hand through his hair (which was already standing up, so probably not for the first time) and turned away from Stiles, paced the short length of his room. “I expected more from you Stiles.”

Not the ‘attaboy’ Stiles had expected. “Wait, what? You _expected more from me_? Number one, I didn’t do this for you, I did it for Scott, and number two, I hit it out of the park.” Stiles pretended to swing a baseball bat. “And in doing so, I might add, will likely get my ass kicked, so a little gratitude would be nice. Or is that too much for you?”

Derek turned his head and stared at Stiles. Stiles rolled off the other side of the bed, putting it between them. Not that it would be much of a deterrent if Derek really wanted to kill him.

“I’m going to take this moment to remind you of our earlier agreement,” Stiles said. He straightened his shoulders and didn’t back away, but only because there wasn’t really any place to go except up against his wall.

Derek actually had the nerve to look . . . wounded?

“I’m not going to hurt you, Stiles. Why do you always think I’m going to hurt you?”

“Jeeze, let me think about that for a minute,” Stiles said, heavy on the sarcasm. “How about because there’s precedent for it?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I apologized for that.”

“You what? No you didn’t! I think I’d have remembered that.”

“I told you why I had to do it,” Derek amended.

“And that was supposed to be an apology?”

Derek just stared at him.

“As close as I’m going to get, anyway?” Stiles said for him.

Derek shrugged. “Can we get back to you taking one for the team?”

It was Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes. “Hitting one out of the park,” he corrected. “Though I will be taking one for the team if Scott beats me up for it. But it won’t be your team – I think we need to clear that up right now – because I am Team Scott all the way.”

The way Derek’s brow went all crinkly made him look like a confused pup. Though Stiles would never voice that thought out loud. Ever.

“Pop culture references are lost on you, aren’t they?”

“Whatever,” Derek said. “Get to the point, or I’ll have to forget about our little agreement.”

Stiles really wanted to go back to the whole apology thing, but even he could see that now wasn’t the time. “Allison is going to talk to Scott.”

“She’s, what, going to ask him pretty please and he’s just going to do it?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Why would he do that?”

Stiles sighed at Derek’s denseness. “Scott will do anything Allison asks him to because he is a teenage boy and he . . . .”

“Thinks he’s in love with her,” Derek finished.

“Well, yeah. I was going to say ‘he’s horny’, but that works, too.”

Derek nodded as if he thought it might actually work. Then he said, “This better work,” and ruined the moment.

“You are a moment ruiner,” Stiles lamented. “We were having a moment there, and you, uh, ruined it.”

Derek stalked towards him and Stiles quickly backed up until his back hit the wall. Derek didn’t stop walking until his chest was practically pressed against Stiles’.

“Agreement!” Stiles squeaked.

“I’m not touching you,” Derek said, proving it by holding both hands up for Stiles to see. He smiled, then drawled. ”But that could change.”

“Shit,” Stiles moaned. Not in fear (which would have been preferable, actually), but because of the way his body reacted to the promise. Er, threat.

Derek ducked his head until his nose was practically touching Stiles’ neck and breathed in deeply. Stiles would’ve been even more embarrassed at how even that went straight to his dick if he wasn’t too busy freaking out that _Derek Hale was scenting him_ and _it was turning him on_.

Stiles’ brain stalled – he couldn’t come up with a single quip. And then it was too late, Derek was out the window and gone. Stiles took a deep breath and told himself that it was relief he felt, not disappointment, and he reminded himself that he, too, was a teenage boy. A stiff wind could make him, well, stiff. His current predicament had nothing to do with Derek and everything to do with teenage hormones.

And if you believe that, he thought, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.

~*~*~*~

Stiles still hadn’t heard from Scott the next morning, though he received a text from Allison asking if he could pick them up at Scott’s and take them out to Derek’s place later that afternoon. Stiles could do that because part of the very awkward talk with his father the night before had included him giving Stiles the spare key to Betty and allowing him to drive her again. Mainly, Stiles figured, because after a week he’d already gotten sick of having to drive Stiles to and from school every day.

However, Stiles was not looking forward to seeing Scott for the first time since blatantly disobeying his directive to not involve Allison and instead involving the hell out of her. Stiles had barely stepped out of the Jeep when Scott and Allison stepped out of the McCall house.

“Hi,” Stiles said as he rounded the front of the Jeep.

Allison returned his greeting and gave him a smile that clearly said ‘stay strong’. Crap. Scott, on the other hand, merely glared at him. It wasn’t quite up to par with Derek’s glares, but far more potent than Scott could’ve produced pre-bite. And pretty effective.

“I told you to leave Allison out of this,” Scott growled.

“I couldn’t leave Allison out of this because she’s the only person you’ll listen to right now. And also . . . .” Stiles made sure that Allison was between them before he finished. “You are not the boss of me.”

Scott’s eyes flashed yellow. Stiles might have eeped, but if no one else mentioned it, he sure as heck wasn’t going to. Allison rolled her eyes.

“Knock it off, both of you. Get in the car.”

Stiles thought she was talking to Scott with that last bit, but he hopped to it and climbed back into the Jeep anyway. He waited until Allison was settled in the backseat, and Scott in the front passenger seat, before starting the engine. The drive to Derek’s burnt out shell of a home was made in silence, though Stiles was certain he could hear Scott grinding his teeth. Even though he had his arm stretched into the backseat to hold Allison’s hand, Scott kept his face turned away from Stiles so he couldn’t see if Scott’s fangs had dropped. Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Derek stood on the porch when they pulled up to his house. Stiles parked to the side of the driveway behind Derek’s Camaro, where he thought he’d be out of the way. Even after he’d turned off the engine, though, nobody made a move to get out. He figured that Scott wasn’t looking forward to facing Derek and accepting his help, and Allison was giving Scott the space he needed to do this in his own time.

Stiles, on the other hand, was staring at Derek, who wore a pair of jeans and nothing else, not even shoes on his feet. Derek crossed his arms in what appeared to be annoyance at being made to wait, which made his biceps bulge even more. That is not hot at all, Stiles thought.

Scott finally turned to look at him, a frown on his face.

“What?”

“You, uh, said that out loud,” Allison said. Stiles could hear the grin in her voice.

“Oh, crap,” Stiles said. “Okay, well, let’s get this show on the . . . . Oh, hey.” Stiles stopped in the middle of sliding out of the Jeep. “You don’t think he heard me, do you?”

The three of them looked out the windshield at Derek, who now stood with one hip cocked against the post, the smirk curling his lips obvious even to Stiles without enhanced werewolf vision.

“Yeah,” Scott said, sounding way too happy about it, “I think he heard.”

Scott got out of the Jeep and helped Allison out. On the upside, at least Scott was talking to him now. Stiles followed Scott and Allison up to the front porch steps, but more slowly. He was kind of hoping that Derek would forget he was there, but no such luck. He felt Derek’s glare burning into his skin even as he directed his words to Scott.

“What are they doing here?”

Stiles’ head shot up. “Us?” he said, indicating himself and Allison. “Well, I drove.”

“I’m not doing this without Allison,” Scott said.

Stiles noticed the distinct lack of mention of his BFF Stiles.

“They’ll only be a distraction,” Derek said.

“Hey!” Stiles protested. “So, what, I’m good enough to come crawling to to do your dirty werewolf work, but not good enough to sit in on a training session? Craw–, did I say crawling?” Stiles said when Derek’s glare registered. “I meant . . . growling. Came growling to me . . . .”

“I thought you didn’t do this for me?” Derek reminded Stiles. “You being ‘Team Scott’, and all.”

Stiles thought the finger quotes were unnecessary. Scott caught Stiles’ eyes in question and he just shrugged. When Stiles turned back to Derek his face was a blank mask, but Stiles thought he’d seen something there, an actual expression, though he couldn’t figure out what it meant.

“Look,” Scott said. “I know I need to learn how to control this thing, and I’ll even submit that you’re my best shot at it, but I don’t like you, and I certainly don’t trust you, so either they stay . . . .”

Stiles was happy to note that he was included this time. Go, Team Scott!

“. . . or I’m out of here and I’ll figure it out on my own.”

The smirk was back, and this time there was an edge to it. “Do you really think they’ll be able to stop me if I decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth?”

“Whoa, hey, what do you mean, more trouble than he’s worth?” Stiles said. “You’re supposed to train him, not put him down.”

Allison, however, didn’t appear surprised by the question. “Maybe not,” she said, “but my dad knows where we are, so if any thing happens to any of us, you’ll be the first place they come looking.”

“You told your father?” Stiles said, choking on the words. That, in Stiles’ opinion, was overkill. But no one had asked Stiles’ opinion.

“Touche,” Derek said. “Can we get on with this now?” he added irritably.

~*~

Stiles and Allison sat on the porch steps and watched the training session. It was actually pretty boring. It appeared to be a whole lot of talking, interspersed with a little yelling. A couple times Scott wolfed out, but Derek kept talking, steady and calm until Scott regained control of himself. It was a different side to Derek, who was usually very un-calm when he was in Stiles’ presence. Granted, people were usually dying and shit, but Stiles didn’t think that was any reason to shove people around and yell at them.

Allison watched them intently, her eyes focused on Scott. Stiles was watching just as intently, but his gaze had been captured by Derek’s abs, the tattoo between his shoulder blades, the way his muscles moved under the skin. It wasn’t that Stiles _liked_ Derek, but there was no denying that he was an attractive man, and Stiles could appreciate beauty in all its forms. Yeah, that was it.

Stiles couldn’t hear the words Derek spoke to Scott, but the sound of Derek’s voice lulled him into a sense of deep relaxation. Suddenly Scott was standing in front of them and the training session was apparently over.

“I need to . . . I’m going to run home. Stiles’ll give you a ride,” Scott told Allison.

Scott glanced at Stiles to confirm that, and Stiles nodded his head.

“Yes, of course.”

Allison shook her head. “I’m going with you,” she told Scott.

“You won’t be able to keep up,” Scott said, clearly agitated.

“So lap me. You’ll be able to tell that I’m fine even if you’re ahead of me, right?”

Scott reluctantly nodded his head. He waited for Allison to rise from the step beside Stiles even though he looked like an addict jonesing for a fix. Allison touched Scott’s arm and it seemed to calm him a little bit.

“Don’t wait for me. Just circle back once in a while. Go.”

Scott went.

“Thanks, Stiles,” Allison said, and then she followed Scott across the yard and into the woods.

The snub of Derek was clear as day, even to Stiles. From the expression on Derek’s face as she walked off, he cared for Allison as little as Allison apparently cared for him.

“I’m sure she meant to thank you, too,” Stiles said in an obvious attempt to smooth things over.

Derek smirked. “I doubt it.”

“She’s good for Scott,” Stiles said.

“Until she gets him killed,” Derek said so matter-of-factly that Stiles almost believed him.

“She won’t,” Stiles insisted, as much for himself as for Derek.

Derek just looked at him, his expression clearly saying that Stiles was as naive as Scott if he really believed that.

“Why don’t you like her?” Stiles asked.

The answer was immediate. “She’s an Argent. She can’t be trusted.”

“They’re not all like Kate,” Stiles said, cringing at the expression that creased Derek’s face at the mention of her name – part hatred, part hurt. “Allison’s father follows the code.”

“Allison isn’t her father,” Derek said.

“You don’t think she’s like Kate?” Stiles said.

“She shot me with an arrow, Stiles,” Derek said. “Twice.”

“That’s because Kate lied to her,” Stiles said. “Besides, you healed, right?”

Derek snarled. “Yes, I healed. But just because I heal faster than a normal human doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt when I get shot with an arrow! Why don’t you ask Scott how it felt when Allison’s father, the one who sticks to that code, shot _him_ with an arrow?”

“I’m sure she’s sorry about that,” Stiles said.

Derek shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, but I doubt it.”

“She didn’t apologize?” Stiles said.

“No,” Derek said, “but I wouldn’t expect an apology from an Argent.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, searching his brain for a change of topic. “Well, uh, training, that was kind of boring, huh?”

Derek raised his eyebrows at the comment, seemingly unfazed by the change of subject. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know, more action?”

“Action?”

“Yeah, you know, fangs, fur flying.”

Stiles would’ve sworn that the corner of Derek’s lips twitched. “Fur flying?”

“Metaphorically,” Stiles said. “So, what was with all the talking? I didn’t think you actually did that. Talk.”

“I was teaching Scott different methods to control himself. The most important thing to remember, and to implement, is to remain calm, so I was teaching him techniques for that.”

“He didn’t look very calm,” Stiles observed.

“No,” Derek agreed. “Scott has a lot of anger inside him still. At Peter, at the situation, at me. He needs to conquer that before he can gain full control over the change.”

“Will he be able to do that by the next full moon?” Stiles asked, worried.

“Probably not,” Derek admitted. “But don’t you dare tell him I said that, or I really will kill you. He needs to believe that he will.”

“What if he can’t?”

“There are other options,” Derek said.

“You’re not going to kill him!” Stiles said. When Derek didn’t respond right away Stiles punched him in the arm. It hurt. He shook out his hand as he glared at Derek, daring him to crack a smile. “You’re not going to kill him, say it!”

“I’m not going to kill him. What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“Exactly the kind of monster you want me to think you are,” Stiles said. “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to prove, that you’re the biggest, baddest werewolf in town?”

This time Derek did crack a smile. “Maybe I have. That doesn’t mean I’m not.” Now the smile had fangs.

“I’m still not afraid of you,” Stiles said, proud when his voice didn’t crack.

“Yes you are,” Derek said. He bent his head once more to Stiles’ neck and breathed in the scent of him.

Stiles was getting really tired of that.

“And you should be,” Derek purred, warm breath tickling Stiles’ skin.

Stiles shivered. His entire body felt as if he’d touched an electric fence. By the time he recovered from the effects of having Derek so close to him Stiles stood alone on the porch.

~*~*~*~

“What did you do today?” his dad asked over the macaroni and cheese Stiles had made from scratch using his mom’s recipe.

“I spent some time with Scott and Allison,” Stiles said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “And then I came home and did my homework.”

“Without being reminded? Are you sick?” His father reached out as if to place his hand against Stiles’ forehead and check his temperature. Stiles ducked out of the way and slapped at his dad’s hand.

“Hilarious. No, I’m not sick. I guess I just wanted to do something . . . normal.”

Also not a complete lie. It was nice to be able to forget about all the deaths, crazy Alphas, werewolves, hunters, Scott, Lydia. Derek. Mostly Derek. Because Stiles was having feelings – no, scratch that, not feelings, reactions – reactions to Derek that were very unexpected. If not entirely unpleasant.

It wasn’t the guy thing that was freaking Stiles out so much as the Derek thing. Stiles had known for a while that he was flexible in that department despite his massive crush on Lydia Martin since the 3rd grade. Sure, Derek was hot, but he was also kind of scary. Stiles had not only been pushed around by Derek, he’d witnessed Derek kill people.

Granted, they’d been werewolves of the not so nice persuasion that were threatening to do Stiles and his friends harm, but still. Derek had been very good at dealing death. Even if Stiles had been grateful for it at the time. And had maybe helped with one of the deaths. Hypocritical much?

But that didn’t mean Stiles wanted to find Derek attractive on a personal level. Partly because Stiles was not a masochist (previously mentioned crush on Lydia aside), and partly because Derek was a werewolf, which meant he could smell the arousal on him, and also _kill him with his pinkie_. Stiles did not want to die. He had a lot to live for. He didn’t know what, yet, but he wanted to live long enough to find out.

Stiles did the dishes and Skyped with Scott, who was, thankfully, talking to Stiles again. Even with werewolf anger issues, Scott couldn’t hold a grudge long. All normal things. But when the lights went out and Stiles was lying in his bed, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from drifting to Derek.

After Stiles cleaned himself up he thought, I need to get a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Of the normal variety. One that didn’t want to kill him some (or all) of the time. Which, sadly, probably eliminated both Lydia and Derek from consideration.

~*~

After practice Stiles drove them out to Derek’s house again. He and Allison took their places on the porch steps without a word from Derek as to why they were there and only a grunt in greeting. Stiles didn’t feel too bad, since Scott’s greeting was also of the caveman – or wolfman – grunt variety. Once again Derek wore neither shirt nor shoes. Stiles wondered if it was a werewolf thing, not wanting to feel constricted, or wanting to feel closer to nature. He’d have to ask.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Stiles asked Allison.

Allison shook her head. “But from what Scott told me yesterday, it sounded like meditation, or something similar.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, an image of Derek in a pair of loose-fitting yoga pants (and nothing else) filling his mind.

“What?”

“I was just thinking, next they’ll be doing yoga, complete with those cute yoga pants. And nothing else.”

Allison was silent for a moment.

“You’re picturing it, aren’t you?”

“I’d be crazy not to,” Allison said, and they shared a smile.

Today’s training session seemed to go worse than yesterday’s. Scott found it difficult to concentrate and Derek had lost the calm of yesterday – he kept yelling at Scott to clear his mind of all distractions, to focus. Stiles could vouch for the fact that having Derek Hale yell at you was not conducive to focus. Finally they were done, though Stiles couldn’t tell whether it was the appointed time for the session to end or whether they’d just given up on getting anything productive done.

Just like yesterday Scott needed to run off some of the excess frustration that had built up from having to deal with Derek (Stiles could relate), and Allison went with him. Today she was better prepared, dressed in sneakers and track pants rather than the boots she’d been wearing yesterday. Stiles and Derek were left alone once more – Stiles on the steps, Derek standing in his yard looking off in the direction Scott and Allison had gone. Stiles wondered if Derek could still see them, or hear them.

Instead of asking, Stiles said with extra cheerfulness, “Well, that went well!”

Derek glowered at him. Nothing new there.

“May I offer a suggestion?” Stiles said.

“No,” Derek immediately replied. No surprise.

“Well, I’m going to anyway,” Stiles said. Probably also not a surprise to Derek. “You said yesterday that Scott had a lot of anger inside him.” Derek regarded Stiles with the raised eyebrows of ‘yeah, so what’ and so Stiles took it as permission to continue. “I think you’re ignoring the anger that you carry inside, and I think that anger might be getting in the way of you teaching Scott.”

“I’m not angry,” Derek said, but there wasn’t much conviction in it.

“Not even a little bit?” Stiles said, raising his hand and holding thumb and index finger close together. “Not still harboring some anger against Kate and the rest of the Argents, such as, say, Allison? Against Peter for killing your sister, forcing you to kill him, taking away all that remained of your family?”

Derek had shifted to full on wolf mode, and when he growled a warning at Stiles a shiver of fear (and holy shit, arousal) slid down his spine.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Stiles said, staring down Derek even as his voice cracked just a little bit.

Stiles’ lizard brain was sending him conflicting messages – to run, and to jump Derek – both of which could get him killed. Weren’t you supposed to _not_ turn your back on a predator? And jumping Derek – let’s just say that Derek didn’t look like he was in the mood for being jumped by anyone, much less by Stiles.

The wolf slowly receded, as if he’d had to force it down, and it was just Derek standing there again. Stiles thought it said something that Derek looked almost more intimidating human than he’d looked all wolfie. Perhaps because the wolf was _supposed_ to be intimidating.

Derek let out a breath, sounding like the air being let out of a balloon, and said, “You might be right about the anger.” His eyes flashed red. “Do you blame me?”

Stiles shook his head. “No. I don’t blame you. A lot of shitty stuff happened to you. I was really angry when my mom died. Part of me was angry _at_ her. Like it was her fault.” Stiles chanced a glance at Derek, who looked like he was actually listening to him. “But what did you say Scott had to do?”

Derek sighed. “That he needs to conquer the anger before he can control the change,” he repeated. “But I can control my change.”

“Did you mean to change just now?” Stiles asked.

“Annoying people bring on the change,” Derek said, without really answering the question.

Stiles waved it off. “Uh huh, whatever. That aside, we’re not talking about your control, we’re talking about you teaching control to someone else. Something you’ve never had to do before, am I right?”

Derek didn’t answer, but Stiles didn’t let that stop him. “I’m just saying, anger impedes teaching. Or learning, as it were. Ever had a teacher that got frustrated when someone couldn’t grasp some ‘simple concept’?” Stiles said, speaking from experience. “Just something to think about.”

There was a moment of silence during which Stiles thought Derek might actually be thinking about it. Still, Stiles felt the need to fill it.

“Hey, wanna get a pizza?” Just because Stiles didn’t let his dad have them didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the occasional pie himself. Derek just stared at him, frowning. “What? Pizza, it’s yummy. And it’s past dinner time, I might add.”

“We’re not friends, Stiles,” Derek said, speaking slowly, as if otherwise Stiles wouldn’t be able to comprehend the concept.

“Why not?” Stiles said. “We could be friends. We could hang.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up. “We don’t have anything in common.”

“Sure we do.” Stiles pointed to Derek, then himself. “You’re a werewolf; I know about werewolves. You’re training Scott, who has been my best friend forever, and I’m maybe offering helpful suggestions. I helped you, you know, during the whole Alpha, other Alpha, that isn’t you, killing spree thing.” Stiles thought it better not to mention the role he’d played in helping Derek actually kill his uncle.

“I don’t want friends,” Derek said.

“Everyone needs friends,” Stiles insisted.

“Not me.”

Derek walked up the steps past Stiles and stood on the porch. Stiles rose to his feet so he didn’t feel quite so much at a disadvantage.

“Maybe that’s also part of your problem. I mean with teaching Scott,” Stiles clarified when Derek glared at him. “Also, the glare is less effective the more often you use it.”

Derek growled and Stiles and slipped down one step before he caught himself on the railing. “Funny,” Stiles said. On the upside, Derek looked pleased with himself, and not like he actually wanted to kill Stiles. At least, not right at that moment.

“What did you mean?” Derek asked.

Stiles was struck speechless for a moment at the fact that Derek had actually asked him to expand upon the comment he’d made. It didn’t last long – Stiles’ silences rarely did.

“Okay,” Stiles said, “so why are you doing this? Training Scott?”

“I already told you,” Derek said impatiently.

“Right. To keep him from killing anyone, getting himself killed. Drawing attention to you. Duty, right? Self-preservation. But not because you actually _care_. Not about Scott, or the people he might hurt.”

“What’s your point?” Derek snarled.

“My point,” Stiles said, “is that, without a natural, and I can’t believe I’m calling being bitten by a crazy ass Alpha ‘natural’, but without a natural connection to Scott you need to create one. Scott needs to trust you.”

“How the hell am I supposed to make Scott trust me? The whole point is that he _doesn’t_ trust me!”

“Maybe you need to give him a reason to trust you.”

Derek curled his lips, but before he could issue a growl, or snarl, or whatever wolfie sound he was going to make, Stiles continued.

“Yeah, you’re the scary Alpha now, I get it, but you need to care about him. Not just about how his actions affect you, _him_.”

Derek looked like he’d just eaten something sour and it had left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Peter – and again, I can’t believe I’m relying here on anything Peter said – but he talked about pack, and how there was strength in numbers. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Derek said, gritting the word out as if he wasn’t happy about giving even that much away, which Stiles thought was _priceless_ given the number of times Derek had come to him for help.

“So, right now you’re an Alpha without a pack,” Stiles said.

Derek didn’t bother to answer.

“I think you’re weak because of it.”

This time Derek did respond, but not with words. Stiles was lifted off his feet and swung through the air until his back impacted against the outside of the house with enough force to make him worry that the already compromised structure wouldn’t hold, Derek’s teeth at his throat.

“Not physically, of course,” Stiles said, barely able to hear himself speak over the hammering of his heart inside his chest. “But as an Alpha. You said that being the Alpha might help you train Scott, but so far it hasn’t.”

They remained like that for several long seconds, Derek poised to rip Stiles’ throat out, and Stiles actually imagining Derek pushing him up against a wall, any wall, for reasons other than anger. Finally Derek stepped back. He kept his head down and refused to look at Stiles. Derek turned away and walked over to the front door.

“You’ll always be weak, Derek, because you’d rather be alone than let anyone in.”

Derek’s only response was to close the door between them.

~*~*~*~

Stiles couldn’t make it to Tuesday night’s training session. And it wasn’t because he was afraid that he’d pissed off Derek. Though he couldn’t deny that he was happy for the reprieve. Stiles offered Betty to Scott, but he said that Allison would drive them.

“Family night?” Scott asked.

“Yeah.”

Family night had gotten off track due to the recent spate of murders, but his father had told Stiles that he wanted to institute them again. Stiles was still in the mood for pizza so he allowed his father to get sausage on half if he got veggies on the other half. They had a nice talk, if punctuated by awkward silences when the topic got too close to the murders, or the secrets Stiles was keeping from his father. For the most part they tried to keep things light – talking about practice, and homework, and the woman who kept calling in minor infractions because she had a crush on one of the Sheriff’s female deputies.

At home Stiles grabbed a bottle of water and left his father with the television so he could go up to his room, ostensibly to do his homework, but in reality to call Scott and see how training had gone. Part of Stiles wondered whether Derek had actually used any of his suggestions, or ignored them altogether. Stiles was voting for ignored, because he didn’t think Derek was ready to trust anyone else, even someone who had helped him before, even if under duress.

Stiles’ heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he turned on the light and saw Derek lying across his bed. “What the . . . !”

Stiles caught the bedroom door just before it slammed shut due to the fear-based reaction that gave it an extra shove when Stiles was closing it. As soon as he was sure that his father wasn’t going to come racing up the stairs, gun drawn, Stiles threw the water bottle at Derek. Who caught it easily out of the air and casually lobbed it back at Stiles as if they were playing catch. Stiles, of course, fumbled with the bottle before dropping it. After he’d picked the bottle up from the floor Stiles looked up at Derek and got the distinct impression that he was laughing at him, without actually cracking a grin.

“Oh, sure, make fun of the guy who doesn’t have really cool werewolf reflexes.”

“You don’t even have good _human_ reflexes,” Derek said.

“Way to kick a man when he’s down,” Stiles said. “But seriously, what are you doing here? Besides trying to stop my heart.”

“I wanted to talk.”

“Jesus,” Stiles said before he could stop himself. “Are you sick? Dying?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not sick or dying.” He sat up and threw his feet over the side of the bed. He just sat there, his back to Stiles.

“Well, okay,” Stiles said, because he was incapable of saying nothing. “What did you want to talk about?”

“You didn’t come tonight.”

“No, I had this thing. With my dad.”

Stiles walked over to the bed and sat at the foot. “Were you worried that you’d finally scared me off?”

Derek glanced over his shoulder. “No. My luck doesn’t run that way.”

“Ha!” Stiles gave Derek a friendly shove, which earned him a not-so-friendly glare. “Tell the truth, you were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You missed me,” Stiles said. “You can admit it. There’s no shame in it.”

“I wouldn’t have realized you weren’t there except it was so quiet.”

“Hardy har har,” Stiles said, then, “Hey, was that a joke?”

“No.”

They were both silent for a few seconds. Stiles rolled the bottle in his hands. He wanted to fill the silence, but this was one of the rare times that he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“I told Scott why I killed the Alpha,” Derek finally said.

Stiles twisted his head around so fast he pulled something in his neck. “Ow!” He reached up and rubbed the spot. “You did? Why?”

“Because you were right . . . .”

“Whoa, wait, I’m sorry, what? Could you repeat that, I think my hearing must be going.”

Derek gave Stiles his patented Derek-glower, but Stiles was so used to it he thought he might be developing an immunity. No need to mention that to Derek and test the theory, though. Stiles placed a hand behind his ear and cocked his head, listening. Derek reached out and slapped the back of Stiles’ head.

“Hey, ow!”

Before Stiles could remind him about their agreement, Derek said, “Slapping wasn’t included in our agreement.”

“Well, I’m hereby amending our agreement to include slapping,” Stiles said as he rubbed the offended area. He dropped his hand. “How did Scott take it? When you told him.”

Derek shrugged. “He saw the danger, but . . . . I just don’t understand him! He’s been given a _gift_ , and he’s fighting it. He needs to accept that it’s part of him now.”

“Easy to say when you’re born with it. Scott’s been human all his life, he doesn’t know how to be anything else.”

“He needs to learn.”

“Granted. So, what’s the back-up plan?”

Derek sent Stiles a questioning look over his shoulder.

“You said there were other options. If Scott couldn’t control himself by the full moon. That didn’t include killing him.”

“Oh, yeah,” Derek said, then rolled his eyes at Stiles’ last comment. “The tunnels.”

“The tunnels?” Stiles repeated, once again fearing for his hearing. “The tunnels where Kate tortured you? Isn’t that kind of, like, rubbing salt in the wound? I mean, for you to go back there?”

“I’m living in the remains of the house Kate burned down around my family – the tunnels are a piece of cake.”

Stiles didn’t want to know what kind of issues Derek had that made returning to the tunnels where he’d been tortured a piece of cake. He scootched around the bed until he sat beside Derek.

“So, listen, in case I never said, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t because you’re not really all that easy to talk to, and plus it never really seemed the time, I’m sorry about, well, your family, and just, everything, you know.”

Derek stood stiffly and walked over to the window, kept his face averted from Stiles. “Yeah, thanks,” he said with a finality that brooked no further conversation.

Stiles, of course, couldn’t leave well enough alone. “We could hug it out. If you wanted to.”

This time Derek did turn to look at him, a horrified expression on his face. Which Stiles thought was completely unnecessary.

“I’ve heard that hugs are good for the soul. Or is that chicken soup?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Silence is, like, a vacuum, and I’m driven to fill it,” Stiles said.

“So that’s a no?”

“Have you met me?”

“No, then.”

Stiles shrugged. And suddenly, for the second time that night, he couldn’t think of anything to say. So he decided to pass the buck.

“You know one way to shut me up?”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “I know several.”

“Nothing banned by previous agreement,” Stiles said quickly.

“I can still think of one.”

Stiles was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what Derek’s idea for shutting him up might be, so he went on before Derek could elucidate. (And that was one word-of-the-day word taken care of; 364 more to go.) “You could talk,” Stiles said. “Because if someone else, namely yourself, is filling the vacuum of silence, then I don’t have to.”

Derek looked skeptical.

“What?”

“That’s really all it takes?”

“You’re a real comedian tonight,” Stiles said. “Why don’t you try it and find out? You know, by talking, which is that thing you said you came here to do. Hey, I know! You could tell me how training went,” he suggested.

Derek started pacing again. Stiles had to bite his tongue to keep from filling the silence. He was afraid that if he did start talking, well, he wouldn’t be able to stop, that was a given, but he also wouldn’t get to hear anything Derek had to say, and Stiles really wanted to know how the training session had gone. If maybe Derek had taken any of his other suggestions.

Derek finally made his way back towards Stiles’ desk. He sat in the desk chair Stiles’d had to replace after Scott had clawed the old one, and Stiles moved to the other side of the bed so he could face him. Derek just looked at him. Stiles let out the breath he’d been holding in an explosion of air.

“Oh my god! You were doing that on purpose!”

Derek didn’t smile, but the corner of his eyes crinkled.

“I hate you so much.”

“Better,” Derek said, ignoring Stiles’ declaration of hatred and actually answering the question Stiles had asked. “It felt like Scott had stopped actively fighting me.”

“Good,” Stiles said. “That’s good, right? Do you think he has a better chance now of controlling himself by the full moon?” Once again Derek was just staring at him. “Okay, sorry, you talk now.”

Before Derek could say anything, though, there was a knock on Stiles’ door and then it was pushed open without waiting for a response.

“Stiles,” his father said, and then he froze when he saw Derek sitting in Stiles’ room.

“Dad!” Stiles said, giving Derek the ‘I can’t believe you didn’t hear him coming’ look and getting the ‘I had other things on my mind’ look in return. “What, um . . . . Derek. You remember Derek Hale, right?”

“I do.”

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Derek said, politely standing and greeting Stiles’ father.

“Derek,” his dad said. He turned his interrogation gaze onto Stiles. “Would you like to explain to me why you have a man in your bedroom?”

“We were talking,” Stiles said, and then it hit him what his father was getting at. “Oh my god! Dad! Get your mind out of the gutter! We were seriously just talking! Although, I have to say that the fact you think I’d have a chance with a guy as hot as Derek is pretty cool.”

Derek’s expression was unreadable; his father’s was not.

“Though probably not from your perspective.”

His dad tossed his cell phone to him. Stiles managed to catch it without dropping it.

“Scott’s called three times in the last ten minutes. Call him back and put us both out of our misery, would you please?”

Stiles had forgotten all about calling Scott when he’d discovered Derek lurking in his room. “Right. Sorry.”

“Derek. I presume you’ll be leaving now? Through the front door.”

“Yes, sir,” Derek said.

Derek gave Stiles a look that could’ve meant _goodbye_ , _we’ll talk later_ , or _I’m going to kill your father in a very horrific and grisly manner_ , though Stiles really didn’t think it was that last one. He hoped.

Stiles clutched his phone to his chest and flopped back onto his bed. He didn’t know what to think about the fact that Derek had taken his advice. That he’d come to see Stiles when he’d missed training. That he’d voluntarily (if reluctantly) _talked_ to Stiles. That his father seemed to think Stiles had any chance at all with a guy as hot as Derek. That he may have inadvertently outed himself to his father.

Stiles caught movement at his window. He tipped his head back to get a better view and saw Derek sitting on the sill. Arms and legs flailing, Stiles tried to roll over and ended up falling off the foot of the bed. When he looked up Derek was laughing at him.

“You did that on purpose,” Stiles said.

“Yes,” Derek agreed, and then he was gone.

Stiles looked out the window to make sure Derek was actually gone, and then closed it. He lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He’d made Derek laugh. Sure, it was at his own expense, but still. Stiles couldn’t keep the smile off his own face when he remembered how much younger the smile had made Derek appear. As if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders, even if just for a moment.

That’s how Stiles’ father found him a few minutes later.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Stiles.”

When his father didn’t say anything else Stiles sat up. “What’s wrong?”

His dad ran a hand through his hair. “I just always thought your mother would be the one to have this discussion with you.”

“Wha–, oh, Dad, no. No discussion necessary. I told you, we were just talking.”

“I was your age once, Stiles. I know how ‘just talking’ can sometimes turn into . . . other things.”

“That’s more than I ever wanted to know.”

“Tell me about it,” his dad drawled. “Just . . . isn’t he a little old for you? Isn’t there someone your own age you could . . . ?”

Stiles laughed. It was either that, or cry. “Seriously, Dad, there is nothing like that going on between me and Derek. We’re just friends. Though I’m not sure we’re even that. He’s . . . not easy to get close to.”

“Just . . . be careful.”

Stiles bit back another denial and just said, “I will.”

His dad nodded and turned to leave, probably as relieved as Stiles was that the conversation was over. Stiles had a thought.

“Dad.” His dad paused his almost-clean escape and turned back to Stiles. “You were worried about the age thing, but not the guy thing?”

“I’ve had some time to get used to the guy thing,” his dad said.

“But I never told you.”

“Not in so many words,” his dad admitted, “but in a lot of small ways.”

“Like what?”

“Well, your movie choices for one. How many times have you made me watch the last Die Hard movie?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said dreamily. “Bruce Willis may be getting old, but he’s still hot.”

“Can I leave now?” his father said, sounding pained.

“Sure,” Stiles magnanimously allowed.

“Thank you.”

After his father left Stiles lay back down. He could cross telling his father that he kinda, sorta also liked guys off his to-do (very far in the future) list. Still, the fact that his dad thought that he and Derek . . . . Sure, Derek was hot, and Stiles wasn’t blind, but that was as far as it went.

Stiles put Derek out of his mind and called Scott. He used the cell rather than Skype because he didn’t want Scott to see his face when Stiles had no idea what he’d see there.

~*~*~*~

The first thing Allison did when she saw Stiles at school the next morning was to give him a hug. Scott had warned him when they’d talked the night before that Allison now viewed him as some sort of werewolf whisperer, or something.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Allison said more than once.

Stiles could only shrug because he had no idea how he’d done it, either. Or, for that matter, what he’d done. Derek hadn’t seemed to appreciate his suggestions at the time and Stiles would have thought Derek’s visit to the house last night had been a dream if his father hadn’t been acting awfully shifty that morning, looking like he was afraid to hear the answer when he asked Stiles how he’d slept.

“Even I could see a difference,” Allison told Stiles. “It was like they’d been speaking two different languages, or something, and suddenly they were speaking the same language. It was pretty awesome, actually.”

Allison gave Scott a look of pride, and Scott preened under her regard. It was disgustingly sappy.

Stiles didn’t remember much about school or practice that day. Mainly because he spent most of the day thinking about that night’s training session. Stiles was glad that the previous night’s session had gone well, but he couldn’t lie, he wished he’d been there to see whatever breakthrough they’d reached.

Then again, it could have been his absence that gave Derek the breathing room to take his advice. Stiles would never know. His curiosity ate at him. He also couldn’t help wondering whether Derek would be glad to see him tonight. It was a pretty big leap from Derek having noticed his absence to Derek actually being happy to see him, but Stiles couldn’t help making it anyway.

Scott just stared at him when Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove them out to Derek’s house after practice. Allison smiled at him when he caught her eye in the rearview mirror. Derek was already waiting on the porch when Stiles pulled up to the house and parked beside the Camaro. Stiles remembered Derek’s smile from the night before and his heart skipped a beat, and then started racing when Derek unfolded himself from where he’d been sitting in what Stiles had begun to think of as his spot. It was totally unfair that one person could have so much of a hotness factor going for him.

“Are you coming?” Scott said impatiently.

Stiles dragged his eyes away from their study of Derek’s chest to see that both Scott and Allison were already out of the Jeep, waiting for him. Scott was scowling; Allison was biting back a grin.

“Yeah, coming,” Stiles said, and scrambled ungracefully out of Betty.

Stiles tried not to look at Derek as they walked up to the house. He failed spectacularly in that endeavor. (Another word-of-the-day word scratched off the list.) Derek moved down the steps and met them on the lawn. Stiles forced his eyes back above Derek’s neck and met his eyes. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat at the intensity in them, and then Derek looked away.

Derek grunted at Scott and they both moved off across the lawn. Stiles continued to stare after them because the back view was just as good as the front view had been.

“A man of few words,” Stiles said as he and Allison took their seats on the porch steps. Allison hummed her agreement but didn’t take her eyes off Scott.

When Stiles turned back Derek and Scott were moving through forms, like Tai Chi or something. Stiles was familiar with the concept, if not the specifics. He didn’t know what to expect, but if he’d thought it might be boring to watch Stiles would’ve been completely and totally wrong. Derek’s movements were smoother, more sure, but Scott wasn’t doing too badly for someone who’d never done it before.

Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off Derek even though his body’s reaction was going to cause him much embarrassment later. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to make sure he wasn’t drooling.

“That’s . . . ,” Stiles breathed.

“I know, right?” Allison breathed back.

Something in her tone brought Stiles up short. “Wait. Are you telling me they did this last night?” Stiles demanded. And more importantly, he’d missed it?

Allison nodded. “Yep.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Stiles turned his gaze back to Derek. “Nice surprise. And so much better than the yoga pants.”

Allison giggled.

~*~

Stiles was pretty much a hormonal wreck by the time Derek called a halt to training. And before Scott stomped off in a huff, Stiles noted. Allison stood and skipped down the steps to meet Scott. Stiles stood because Derek was approaching the steps and he was already at a disadvantage, being a puny human and all.

Derek didn’t stop until he stood on the same step as Stiles. Before Stiles could make a wise comment about Derek overcompensating, or something, Derek bent his head, pressed his nose to Stiles’ neck, and breathed him in. Stiles couldn’t help the fact that all of his blood promptly headed south. And that he might have whimpered.

Derek growled and threw himself away from Stiles. Stiles watched in surprise as Derek stalked across the porch and slammed into the house.

“That,” Stiles said to no one in particular, “is really getting old.” He patted himself on the back that his voice only cracked a little bit. Scott and Allison were both staring at him – Scott in shock, while Allison looked the slightest bit smug. “What?” Stiles said, resisting the urge to check whether he had something on his face. Surely they’d have told him by now if he did.

“Derek,” said Scott.

“Yeah.” Stiles grimaced and tried to pretend it had nothing to do with how tight his jeans felt right then. “What is up with all the sniffing, huh?”

Scott choked. “He’s done it before?”

“Yeah, all the . . . . Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, the wolf that had popped out receding as Allison gently rubbed his back. “It’s just that . . . .” Scott gestured towards the house.

Stiles glanced over his shoulder to see if Derek had suddenly reappeared – he hadn’t. “What?”

Scott opened his mouth, but no words came out. Allison took pity on him.

“I think what Scott’s trying to say is that you smell good. To Derek,” she added pointedly.

“Really?” Stiles said, caught between ‘Cool!’ and ‘Euww!’ “So I’m like, what, werewolf catnip, wolf-nip, or something? Then how come Scott isn’t all up in my space with the sniffing?”

Scott gurgled something unintelligible. Allison looked torn between amusement and frustration.

“He does,” Allison said. “Just not you.” Allison raised her eyebrows hopefully, waiting for Stiles to get it. He didn’t.

Allison rolled her eyes and sighed. “When we’re . . . .” She gestured with her hand. “And I get . . . .” She gestured again. “Scott likes to . . . .” Another gesture. “Because he likes the way I smell,” she added, speaking slowly and clearly, as if that would facilitate Stiles’ understanding.

Allison widened her eyes and stared at Stiles as if she could impart her message telepathically, which would be pretty cool if it was actually possible, but it wasn’t so . . . .

“Oh my god!” Stiles said, suddenly wishing for gallons and gallons of brain bleach. “Too much information, too much information!”

“Tell me about it,” Scott said morosely. “I did not need to know that about you and Derek.”

“Wait, what?”

“And you’re supposed to be the smart one,” Allison sighed.

“Hey!” both Scott and Stiles said.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Allison told Scott and nuzzled her nose against his cheek. “You know I love you.”

Stiles didn’t even have a smart remark for them because he felt like he’d just been hit by a Mack truck. Derek liked the way he, Stiles, smelled. Which wouldn’t have been so momentous except that every time Derek had sniffed him Stiles had been aroused. Which meant that Derek liked the way Stiles smelled when he was . . . .

“I need to go for a very long walk,” Scott said plaintively.

“I’ll go with you,” Allison said gently. She took Scott’s hand and led him off towards the woods, but not before boring a hole into Stiles with her eyes and jerking her head towards the house.

Derek’s house. The house inside which Derek was holed up at that very moment. From where he’d probably heard every word of their conversation with his freaky werewolf hearing. Which was the thing that got Stiles’ feet moving, because that meant Derek was inside the house _hiding_.

Stiles pushed through the front door without knocking. “Derek!” he called out, expecting that Derek was lurking in the shadows upstairs. Stiles came up short when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw that Derek was in what had probably been a cozy living room at one time. He’d put on a t-shirt and was tying his boots.

“What do you want?” Derek said sharply.

“You,” Stiles said. “To talk. To you.”

“It’ll have to wait,” Derek said. He stood up and grabbed his leather jacket off the arm off the ratty old sofa he’d been sitting on.

“It’ll have to wait?” Stiles repeated incredulously. “I don’t think so, Mister. We need to talk. About the sniffing. That you keep doing to me.”

“I don’t have time right now, Stiles,” Derek said, swinging the jacket on.

Stiles lost track of their conversation for a moment as he watched Derek smooth the leather into place. When Derek started to move past him Stiles snapped out of it. Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm, quickly letting go when Derek glared at him, but not backing down. “Make time.”

“I can’t,” Derek said. “I really do have something important to do.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and gave Derek his best belligerent expression. “What is it that’s so important, then?”

“It’s none of your business, Stiles,” Derek snarled.

That stung more than it probably should have. “Right,” Stiles said, trying to cover the hurt with snark. “Important werewolf business. That I can’t know about because I’m not a werewolf. Even though I already know about werewolves and you’ve asked for my help in the past with said werewolf business.”

“Stiles,” Derek said. He actually sounded like he might be sorry for the harshness of his tone, but apology, if that’s what it was, looked a lot like constipation on Derek.

Stiles held up his hand to forestall Derek from speaking. “Say no more. I’ll leave you to your important werewolf business.” Stiles turned to leave, then paused. “Just one more thing,” he said without looking back at Derek. “My neck? That’s my business. From now on you keep your nose out of it.”

Stiles didn’t wait to see if Derek had a response to that.

~*~*~*~

“Wanna watch a movie?” Stiles asked his dad. Please, Stiles thought, say yes. He couldn’t go up to his room yet, because once he was alone he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from thinking about Derek. And that way lay madness.

“Sure,” his dad said. “Just none of the Die Hard movies.”

They both looked at each other and laughed a little self-consciously.

“I’ll do you one better,” Stiles said. “No Bruce Willis movies at all. Not even when he was younger and had hair, in addition to very manly biceps.”

“Thank you,” his dad said wryly. “I appreciate that.”

Stiles chose ‘The Losers’ and they settled in on the couch for some mindless action with a bowl of popcorn between them. (Stiles had relented on allowing his father to have buttered popcorn because he’d tried the butter free kind and it was awful.)

At a certain memorable elevator scene, Stiles’ dad said, “Wow, he’s buff.”

Stiles froze in the process of gathering another handful of popcorn. He slowly turned his head away from the tv screen and looked at his dad. Who stared intently at the screen as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Yeah, impressive six pack,” Stiles contributed, and then stuffed popcorn into his mouth so he wouldn’t be tempted to say anything else.

They both concentrated on the movie and didn’t speak again (except to applaud the explosions) until the movie was over.

“Do you want to talk about it?” his dad said, as if he’d been psyching himself up the entire movie to ask the question.

“A world of no,” Stiles said.

“You can,” his dad said. “I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. Even if it’s Derek Hale.” His dad swallowed hard, as if that had been difficult to say.

“It’s really not what you think,” Stiles said. “It’s just, for a minute there I though we might actually be moving towards friendship, even though he told me he didn’t want friends.”

“Everybody needs friends,” his dad said.

“That’s what I told him,” Stiles said. “I guess he’s the exception that proves the rule, or something.”

“Maybe,” his dad agreed. “But he comes around an awful lot for a guy that doesn’t want friends.” He patted Stiles’ leg. “I’ve got some reports to finish. You sleep well.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles said, ignoring the matter of his sleeping.

~*~

Stiles almost wasn’t even surprised to find Derek lying on his bed. “Would you like me to have a key made so you can come in the front door like a normal person?”

The only odd thing was that Derek was face-planted into Stiles’ pillows rather than lying on his back glaring moodily at his ceiling. “Did you fall asleep, or are you sniffing my pillows?” Stiles said, unable to work up a real head of steam over it. “Because that would just be weird. Not that everything with you isn’t weird.”

Derek ignored Stiles’ jibes and sat up. The expression on his face – worried, rather than the usual ‘I can kill you with my eyes’ – shut Stiles up. But only for a second. Before he could voice his concern, though, Derek spoke.

“I bit Jackson.”

Stiles froze for a second, then erupted into angry motion. “You did _what_?” he hissed. And then went on before Derek could answer. “You thought it was a good idea to take the world’s biggest douchebag and turn him into a D-bag with _super powers_?”

“He came to me, he wanted it,” Derek said with some of his usual growl. “And as you’ve so helpfully pointed out, I need a pack.”

“You couldn’t be the slightest bit _selective_ about who you chose for your pack?” Stiles said.

They were both silent for a few seconds after Stiles’ outburst, but, well, vacuum.

“So you bit him last night, the night before, what?”

“Several nights ago,” Derek said.

“Several . . . ? Wait, why isn’t he training with Scott, then?”

Derek grimaced. “Something’s wrong.”

“Something’s wrong,” Stiles repeated. He slapped himself on the forehead. “Of course something’s wrong. Or you wouldn’t be here. Because we’re not friends who just hang out and tell each other shit,” Stiles said. It probably wasn’t the time for that discussion, but the conversation he’d just had with his father was fresh in his mind.

“Never mind that,” Stiles said, trying to ignore the constipated expression that reappeared on Derek’s face. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

Stiles dropped into his desk chair and sighed. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, tell me. Unless this is ‘werewolf business’ that’s none of my business,” Stiles couldn’t help adding.

Derek rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored that last comment. “I’ve been watching him,” Derek said.

“When do you have time, you’re always here.” Stiles indicated his bedroom, if not the actual bed. At Derek’s glare he mimed zipping his lips.

Derek snorted. “Like that would actually work.” Derek took a deep breath. “Jackson shows no signs of turning into a werewolf.”

“What do you mean he shows no signs of turning into a werewolf?”

“He shows no signs of turning into a werewolf, Stiles, what the hell do you think I mean!”

They both feel silent and listened to see if Stiles’ father was coming to investigate. Stiles looked at Derek who shook his head.

“I thought you turned or died if you got bit,” Stiles said. “I thought that’s how it worked.”

“That is how it works,” Derek said.

“Except for how that’s not how it’s working!”

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Stiles.”

“Hey, don’t blame your performance issues on me,” Stiles said, wishing he could take a picture of Derek’s expression.

“I don’t have performance issues.”

“Jackson _not_ turning into a werewolf would suggest otherwise,” Stiles said cheekily, enjoying himself more than he probably should be. “Except,” he mused.

“Except what?”

“Peter bit Lydia, and she didn’t turn into a werewolf, either.” They both digested that for a couple of seconds. “Then what are they?”

Derek growled, which Stiles interpreted as, ‘if I knew that I wouldn’t be here’.

“On the positive side, we can rule out impotence, since it was Peter and not you that bit Lydia. Probably,” he couldn’t resist adding. “Unless it’s something that runs in the family.”

Before Derek could threaten him, Stiles stood and wiped his palms on the seat of his jeans. “Is that it, then? I’ll do some research, see what I can find, but I warn you, this isn’t much to go on . . . .”

“I didn’t come here to ask you to do research,” Derek said, which surprised Stiles. “Not that it’s not a good idea.”

“Then why did you come? Sniffing my pillows aside.”

“I came to . . . talk,” Derek reluctantly admitted.

“Why?” Stiles said. “I mean, you’ve made it very clear that we’re not friends. Because you don’t want friends. You’re a lone wolf.” Stiles gave a humorless laugh. “Heh. Lone wolf.”

Before Stiles could say anything else, Derek shut him up. By kissing him. Which was pretty effective, actually. Because Derek kissed like he did everything else – intently, and with all of himself. He curled a hand around the back of Stiles’ head and crushed their lips together. He slipped his tongue into Stiles’ mouth and Stiles hadn’t known that he could be taken apart with just a kiss.

Granted, Stiles had never been kissed before, but he couldn’t help but think that all his life he’d been waiting for _this_. He moaned when Derek released his mouth, a protest forming on his lips until Derek lifted him and pressed his back to the door, pressed himself against Stiles.

Derek claimed his mouth again, and that’s exactly what it felt like, as if Derek was claiming him. The thought turned Stiles on more than he’d thought possible. He pushed his hands into Derek’s hair and wrapped his legs around Derek’s hips. Stiles made a sound of surrender and Derek growled low in his throat in response.

“You _do_ like the way I smell,” Stiles said, breathless.

Derek didn’t answer because he was too busy sniffing at Stiles’ neck. Stiles instinctively tipped his head back against the door, giving Derek better access to his neck. This? Also more of a turn on than he’d imagined it could be, even with the pretty consistent reaction he’d been having to Derek sniffing him. Stiles rolled his hips, pressed himself against Derek and felt the proof of Derek’s arousal in return.

Stiles moaned again, deep in his throat. If he’d thought this thing, whatever the heck it was, was one-sided, he’d just been given evidence otherwise. Derek captured Stiles’ lips, taking the moan into his own mouth.

Suddenly Derek broke the kiss. Before Stiles could utter a protest Derek went into werewolf mode, tilting his head and listening. He carefully disengaged Stiles’ legs from around his hips and set his feet back onto the floor. Derek had just taken a step back from Stiles when there was a knock at the door behind him that vibrated through Stiles’ back.

Derek didn’t look like he was going to take the opportunity to leap out the window, so Stiles turned and opened the door. “Dad. Hey,” Stiles said, rubbing nervously at his lips, which felt hot and swollen. His dad looked very Sheriff-y right then.

“Hello, Stiles,” his dad said. “Derek.”

“Sir.”

“It’s late,” his dad went on as he stepped out of the doorway and into Stiles’ bedroom, clearly making room for Derek to leave.

“Yes, sir,” Derek said. “Good night, Stiles.”

Stiles gaped at Derek’s back as it disappeared through the door. Derek had never said good night to him before. Usually he just appeared and disappeared, like mist. Stiles’ gaze returned to his father when he cleared his throat.

“In my defense, I had no idea Derek wanted that,” Stiles said. “Of course, I also had no idea _I_ wanted that.” His father winced. “Sorry, TMI?”

“We’ll talk after I’ve shown Derek out,” his father said as he turned away.

“Awesome,” Stiles said. “Can’t wait.”

As soon as his dad was gone Stiles turned out the light and scurried over to the window. He knelt on the floor and rested his arms on the sill, waiting to see if Derek would appear. A moment later the shadows parted and Derek was just there. Standing in Stiles’ yard. Looking up at Stiles’ bedroom window.

Stiles touched his lips, which still tingled from their kiss. Kisses. Because Stiles was sure that what they’d just done qualified as more than one. “I can still taste you,” Stiles whispered, knowing that Derek could hear him.

Derek stepped further out of the shadows. Stiles could tell that he’d shifted. Derek froze then and emitted an unhappy growl before he stepped back and melted once more into the shadows.

“Coward,” Stiles said quietly. “I’m about to have The Talk with my dad and you run off.”

This time he heard Derek’s laughter coming back to him on the breeze. Stiles smiled to himself at the sound. It almost made up for the most awkward conversation in the history of _ever_ that was in his immediate future. But he wouldn’t tell Derek that. He’d let Derek find other ways of making it up to him. Stiles was sure that Derek could be pretty inventive if he wanted to.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Season Two Spoiler: Jackson does not turn into a werewolf.


End file.
